


watercolor on canvas

by timelessidyll



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, artist renjun, overuse of the word canvas, overuse of watercolor and color references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 02:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessidyll/pseuds/timelessidyll
Summary: A journey of Renjun, watercolors, and pining love.





	watercolor on canvas

**Author's Note:**

> god i love this style  
> the song i mention is canvas by junho, please go listen to it!

Huang Renjun wasn’t an intimidating person. He swore on it. It just so happened that his resting face radiated delinquency, so even though he loved soft pastels and watercolor, all people saw was grunge and spray paint. Which wasn’t true, but who would listen to him?

 

Zhong Chenle was adorable and everyone swore on it. Student body treasurer and honors student, he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Which made it difficult for Renjun to even think about approaching him in school. Jaemin called him a “panicked gay,” but if anyone amongst them was panicked, it was Jeno and Mark. But they weren't that important. His dilemma was worth attention.

 

Because even though Renjun had a crush on Chenle (after an extremely scary time of having a crush on an upperclassman named Sicheng), he had a reputation. One that didn’t fit Chenle. So he stuck to his watercolors done in parks and the studio and tried to ignore the longing in his chest.

 

On a sunny day in late June, he wondered why he liked Chenle. A little introspective for a simple watercoloring exercise, but he didn’t have to think too hard anyway. Art was second nature to him.

 

The difference between Chenle and Sicheng was jarring. Where Chenle was loud and bright, vivid and full of life, Sicheng was muted and neutral, keeping himself a blank canvas. It was a strange wonder. He recalled Chenle’s laugh, how it seemed to echo above all else, and Sicheng’s observing silence, how it was deafening even in conversation. The two were polar opposites, so how was it that he found Chenle so captivating?

 

There were a few strays Renjun met daily, two dogs and a cat that seemed inseparable. He always stopped by their alley with a small snack on his way home. Maybe Renjun fell in love with Chenle because he saw him feed a stray cat some rice he had leftover.

 

Maybe Renjun fell in love with his honey voice. It was soothing, clear, and something that Chenle never showed off to the rest of their peers. Why, Renjun would never know. But sometimes he’d overhear Chenle talk about a song he liked, and he would go listen to it and imagine Chenle’s voice instead.

 

Chenle sat down next to him, a sad smile on his face.

 

“It’s been a few months since school started.” He didn’t specify his intentions. They both knew. Chenle was his best friend, and Renjun thought that maybe he loved him because Chenle knew him best. Knew him even when he said nothing. He finished dabbing the watery blue on the edges of the lake.

 

“I’m sorry.” There are a lot of things Renjun is sorry for. One of those things was being too cowardly to confess. “You know what people think of me. You know what they think of you.”

 

“And I’ve told you it never mattered.” He glanced at the open watercolor paints. “Do you want to finish now?”

 

“If it’s not a bother.” If you’re not busy, is what he meant. Chenle read in between the lines.

 

“You’re in luck.” They sat there on the grass in front of the lakeshore until the sunset, long after Renjun finished. Chenle had his head on Renjun’s shoulder, half-asleep, and he had the urge to draw the orange glow on Chenle’s face. 'Another day,’ he told himself, pretending he was talking about the portrait.

 

Two months later, Jisung threatened to break his favorite paintbrush if he didn’t “man the fuck up,” which was much dirtier than what should’ve been coming out of his fetus mouth. He was on a bench now, in the same park. He was trying trees now. Lakes were easy in watercolor. Trees, on the other hand, took some practice. Chenle sat down on the bench next to him.

 

“How’s it coming?” He didn’t try to look at Renjun's sketchbook even though the wind making the pages flutter would make it so easy.

 

“It’s coming.” It wasn’t good or bad. It simply was. Chenle didn’t ask for more. He jumped into a retelling of his day, placing emphasis on how much he hated their science lesson. Renjun mumbled his agreement every now and again, letting Chenle’s words lull him in his task. Chenle had just begun talking about his student body meeting when Renjun finished his painting. He placed a protective sheet of paper to keep the colors from smudging when he closed the sketchbook. Another sketchbook came out as he put away the watercolors, and Chenle stopped talking at the sound of paper ripping. Concern flashed across his face, but he didn’t get to ask anything. Renjun had already walked off, leaving a finished sketch in Chenle’s lap.

 

Early October meant the transition to earthy tones. He’d told Jisung he’d done something. He never said if it worked. They assumed it hadn’t. Chenle never said anything about it, and Renjun left it be. He never got an answer, so it didn’t hurt, per se. But it was always there in the back of his mind.

 

It was good practice to draw a varied landscape. He was on the top of a hill overlooking a good portion of the park, halfway through the base colors, when he saw a body in the corner of his vision. Renjun thought nothing of it. At least not until Chenle called his name with a tinge of guilt.

 

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” 'For an answer,’ was left hanging in the air between them. Chenle pulled out the paper from a folder, pristine as the day Renjun had drawn it in fervor. He looked at it now and thought that the angles of orange sunlight on the planes of Chenle’s face could have been better. The color followed the changing seasons from luscious summer to faded autumn. “You should’ve known better than to think I would understand your word puzzle.” On the back of the page was a single word: canvas. “It’s a pretty song.”

 

“I knew you would think that.” His fingers itched to pick up the brush, the pencil, anything.

 

“I don’t think you need me to tell you about the differences in shades of color.”

 

“I thought the chorus was more important.” Neither of them were dancers, but they were doing an awfully good job of dancing around the topic.

 

“Thank you.” For what, Renjun didn’t know. He refused the need to look to his right.

 

In the end, all it took was a light hand on his shoulder, the way he held a pencil when he sketched, to make his resolve crumble. He missed the moment Chenle leaned in, but he distinctly felt the soft pressure on his lips even though their touch was like a passing breeze. He stopped thinking, moved on instinct, what felt right. They ended up on the grass, Renjun on top, foreheads pressed together from how close they were and a breathlessness that had everything to do with a fantasy they never thought would become reality. There was a new light in Chenle’s eyes. It was probably reflected in his own. And then Chenle’s face fell and Renjun wondered what went wrong.

 

“Donghyuck’s gonna make me enter the talent show for my singing now.” Chenle swore under his breath in Mandarin, and the absurdity that he’d bet with Donghyuck on their first kiss made Renjun giggle like a child. The watercolor painting drying unevenly was ignored.

 

* * *

 

“I’d like to thank everyone who came to my exhibition tonight, whether on a whim, as an interested buyer, or as a fan. In the case of my friends, an obligation.” A smattering of poorly concealed laughter. “Canvas is a collection of paintings I hold dear to me. They are reminiscent of my early days as an artist, of the journey I took and how I grew. You’ll see some comical ones like dear Moomin, some boring landscapes, and a few portraits. You might think you recognize who the portraits are of. You’re not wrong, but you’re not right either. I hope you’ll look at each piece of artwork and see some of me in it. Please feel free to roam around and approach me for inquiries. Enjoy the night.” He stepped away from the mic and was immediately met with two commissioning propositions and a potential buyer. His list of contacts grew. It took around forty minutes for him to clear through the group of people around him, but the exhaustion disappeared when he saw Chenle in front of him. He placed a chaste kiss on his mouth.

 

“You took your sweet time,” he teased, easily pulling his fiancé to walk with him through the exhibition.

 

“Recording stretched longer than I intended.”

 

“It was Yoonoh, wasn’t it?” Chenle gave him a knowing smirk. They stopped in front of a collection of small canvases, each one a piece of the whole picture. Shades of gold and amber clashed with the darkness to illuminate a familiar face.

 

“This is better than any picture they could take.” Renjun would beg to differ, but they both knew how stubborn they were. They moved on to a blurred oil pastel rendering of a black cat. Chenle didn’t mention anything, but Renjun saw the tug of his lips.

 

“You’re quite the nostalgic,” he finally said in front of a watercolor landscape. Renjun intertwined their hands, their rings pressed against each other.

 

“I’m glad I’m not nostalgic about you.”


End file.
